by Bear Grylls
But back to the rain.
Rain was good because it needed clouds to fall from, and clouds blanketed the forest from whatever might be sitting high above. With hostile eyes watching from the skies, Jaeger felt that much more secure because of the rain clouds. As long as he and his team kept all use of communications and navigation kit to zero, they should remain unseen and undetected.
For a moment, Jaeger put himself into the mind of the enemy commander, whoever he might be. The last definite trace he had had of his prey – Jaeger and his team – would have been at the lip of the Devil’s Falls. There, he’d have picked up both the coin’s tracker trace and the video camera’s GPS signal.
After that, an hour’s silence, and then a tracker trace and maybe a cell phone roaming signal moving downriver on the Rio de los Dios.
The enemy commander would have to work on the assumption that Jaeger and his team were on the water; he would have no other intelligence to go on. And it was upon that deception – one that had been masterminded by Irina Narov – that Jaeger was gambling much of their future.
He figured that any smart commander – and Jaeger never liked to underestimate his enemy – would have a belt-and-braces approach. He’d track the kayak, waiting for a break in the cloud cover to verify who and what it might be carrying, in preparation for launching a final Hellfire strike.
But at the same time he’d get his ground force in to that air wreck double quick, to get boots on the ground at the target.
The race was on. And right now, by Puruwehua’s calculations, Jaeger and his team were a good day’s march or more in the lead. The air wreck lay less than eighteen hours away. All being well, they would reach it the following morning. But Jaeger wasn’t kidding himself that the journey from here on was going to be easy.
The rain brought out the worst of the jungle.
As they trekked ever onwards, Puruwehua pointed out the changes wrought by the downpour. Some were obvious: at times Jaeger and his team found themselves wading through patches of jungle that were flooded up to waist height. Unidentified creatures plopped, slopped and slithered through the shallows, and iridescent water snakes roped through the shadows.
Puruwehua indicated one particularly evil-looking serpent: it was striped black, blue and two shades of red. ‘This one – no need to worry so much,’ he explained. ‘Mbojovyuhua; it eats frogs and small fish. It bites, but the bite doesn’t kill.’
He turned to Jaeger. ‘It is the big mbojuhua you need to be wary of. That one is as long as five people laid end to end, and as thick as any caiman. It is black and white spotted, and it will grab you in its jaws, wrap you tight, then squeeze. The pressure will break every bone in your body, and it won’t stop squeezing until it cannot feel your heartbeat any more. Then it swallows you whole.’
‘Nice,’ Jaeger muttered. ‘A constrictor with a real bad attitude. My next favourite after piranhas.’
Puruwehua smiled. Jaeger could tell that the Indian got something of a kick out of putting the shits up the team.
‘Even worse is the tenhukikı˜uhu˜ a,’ Puruwehua warned. ‘You know this one? It is a grey lizard about the size of a forest pig, with black squares all down its back. It has feet like hands, with suckers. Its bite is very poisonous. We say it is worse than any snake.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Jaeger snorted. ‘It comes out only when it rains?’
‘Worse: it lives only in the flooded forest. It is a fine swimmer; an excellent climber of trees. It has white eyes like a ghost, and if you try to grab it by the tail, the tail breaks free. That is the tenhukikı˜uhu˜ a’s means of escape.’
‘Why would you ever want to grab it?’ a voice interjected. It was Alonzo’s; the big American seemed about as disgusted at this lizard thing as Jaeger was.
‘To eat, of course,’ Puruwehua replied. ‘As long as you can avoid getting bitten, tenhukikı˜uhu˜ a tastes very good – like a cross between fish and chicken.’
Alonzo snorted. ‘Kentucky Fried! Somehow I don’t think so.’
It was something of a cliché to describe survival food as tasting like chicken. As both Jaeger and Alonzo knew, it rarely if ever did.
Other changes brought by the rain were less obvious, and known only to the Indians. Puruwehua showed them a narrow hole in the forest floor. Jaeger presumed it was a rodent’s burrow. In fact, Puruwehua explained, it was home to the tairyvuhua, a fish that lived underground, hibernating in the mud and only coming to life when it rained.
An hour before dusk, they stopped to eat. Jaeger had placed his team on ‘hard routine’: no fires or cooking allowed – meaning fewer traces for an enemy to track. But hard routine was never much fun. It meant boil-in-the-bag military rations eaten cold and cheerless from the pouch.
It might cure your hunger, but it did little for morale.
63
Jaeger sat on a fallen log and munched on a bag of what was supposedly chicken and pasta but which tasted like congealed glue. His mind drifted to memories of hippy Annie’s carrot cake, back on her barge in London. Probably raining there too, he reflected ruefully.
He finished off with a handful of dry biscuits, but still he could feel the pangs of hunger gnawing at his stomach.
Alonzo dropped his backpack and plonked himself down beside Jaeger. ‘Ouch!’ He rubbed his backside, where the piranha had bitten him.
‘How does it feel to be bested by a fish?’ Jaeger needled him.
‘Freakin’ piranha,’ Alonzo growled. ‘Can’t take a goddam crap without thinking about goddam fish bites.’
Jaeger glanced around at the dripping vegetation. ‘So, the fates seemed to have smiled on us at last.’
‘You mean the rain? Damn rainforest livin’ up to its name. Let’s just hope it holds right through.’
‘Puruwehua says it’s rain that lasts for days and days.’
‘Puruwehua should know.’ Alonzo clutched at his stomach. ‘Man, I could murder a McDonald’s. Double Quarter Pounder with cheese, fries, and a Triple Thick chocolate shake.’
Jaeger smiled. ‘We get through this, I’m buying.’
‘Deal.’ Alonzo paused. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking. Doesn’t happen much, so pay special attention. We got us a Predator on the hunt. Only a few governments in the world operate that kind of hardware.’
Jaeger nodded. ‘Can’t be the Brazilians. Even if they do have Predator, which I doubt, Colonel Evandro’s watching our backs.’ He cast a sideways glance at Alonzo. ‘Most likely scenario – it’s your fellow Americans.’
Alonzo grimaced. ‘Man, don’t I know it. South America: it’s our backyard. Always has been. But you know how it is: lot of agencies out there – lot of ’em are borderline rogue.’ He paused. ‘Whoever it is operatin’ that Predator, what’re they gonna make of the Airlander? You thought about that?’
‘It’s got good cover,’ Jaeger replied. ‘Colonel Evandro’s assigned it B-SOB special mission status. It’s terra incognita out there, and the Brazilians have had flights out surveying the borders for months now. The Airlander’s flying the Brazilian flag, plus B-SOB colours, like it’s on a bona fide survey mission.’
‘You figure it’ll work? Bad guys won’t smell a rat when it’s sat right above us?’
‘The Airlander cruises at ten thousand feet. Predator orbits at around twice that. Airlander will be sitting there clear for all to see, hiding in plain sight. Plus it doesn’t need to be anywhere near us. With its surveillance technologies – with PWAS – it can keep watch from several miles away.’
‘Goddam better be right, Jaeger, or we’re toast.’
Jaeger glanced at Alonzo, who was likewise tucking into a cold boil-in-the-bag. ‘So, you got anyone you could call?’ he ventured. ‘Like in spec ops? Try to get a fix on who the hell it is hunting us? See if whoever’s unleashed their dogs of war can be persuaded to call them off again?’
Alonzo shrugged. ‘I’m a SEAL reservist, rank of master sergeant. I do know folks in that world. But post 9/11, you k
now how many spec ops agencies there are out there?’
‘Hundreds?’ Jaeger ventured.
Alonzo snorted. ‘Right now, there are eight hundred and fifty thousand Americans with top-secret clearance. There are twelve hundred government agencies working on secret projects – largely counter-terrorism – plus two thousand privately contracted companies.’
‘That’s . . . hard to believe.’ Jaeger shook his head. ‘It’s messed up.’
‘No, man, it’s not. That alone isn’t. It’s what comes next that is truly unbelievable.’ He glanced at Jaeger. ‘In 2003, the President was persuaded to sign an EXORD: a presidential executive order. It gave his blessing for those eight hundred and fifty thousand guys to do pretty much as they please; to mount operations without any need for clearance. In other words, to act with zero presidential oversight.’
‘So whoever’s deployed that Predator, it could be one of a thousand different outfits?’
‘Pretty much, yeah,’ Alonzo confirmed. ‘And whatever son-of-a-bitch is trying to take us out, that’s how they’ll be operating – deep in the black. Trust me – no one knows what anyone is doing out there. And with an EXORD like that, no one thinks they have the right to challenge anything, or even to ask.’
‘Crazy.’
‘You got it.’ Alonzo glanced at Jaeger. ‘So, yeah, I could call a couple of people. But honestly, I’d be pissing in the wind.’ He paused. ‘Can you run through our exfil strategy one last time?’
‘Think of the Airlander as a massive lozenge-shaped airship,’ Jaeger began. ‘It’s got four propulsors, one at each corner, via which it can make a direct thrust and lift in any direction: up, down, back, front, sideways. The flight deck is situated in the centre of the underside, between twin air-cushion landing systems – basically a pair of mini hovercrafts situated to either side of the hull.’
He grabbed one of his uneaten biscuits to represent the airship. ‘It can move or hover at any altitude, in any direction. It’s fitted with internal winches and cranes, to enable loading and unloading. Plus the main cabin holds up to fifty passengers. Best-case scenario, we confirm on the ground that the Airlander’s safe to come in. She drops to low altitude, hovers over the jungle, we throw some airlift slings around the warplane, and she lifts it out of there – us with it.
‘That’s the plan if we get there well ahead of the bad guys,’ Jaeger continued. ‘And if the toxic threat proves manageable on the ground. The Airlander’s slow. She cruises at around two hundred kph. But she’s got a three and a half thousand kilometre range. That’s more than enough to get us back to Cachimbo, and a rendezvous with Colonel Evandro.’
Jaeger shrugged. ‘Worst-case scenario is the toxic threat’s a killer, the Airlander can’t do the lift and we’re left running for our lives.’
Alonzo rubbed his chin pensively. ‘I sure hope we ain’t headin’ for scenario number two.’
‘Evo’ipeva,’ a voice called over. It was Puruwehua, and he had something dark and bloody gripped between his fingers. ‘I do not know the English word. Rain brings them out; they suck the blood.’
‘Leeches,’ Jaeger muttered. ‘Bloody leeches.’
Alonzo shuddered. ‘Yeah, and monsters by the looks of ’em.’
Puruwehua indicated his legs and groin area. ‘We Amahuaca wear no trousers, so we can see them to pull them off. But you . . . you will need to check.’
Jaeger and Alonzo glanced at each other.
‘Rank before beauty,’ Alonzo announced. ‘Schlong the size of mine, they got the whole nine yards to feast upon.’
Jaeger got to his feet reluctantly. He undid his trousers and his belt, and dropped his pants. Even in the dim light he could see that his legs and groin were a mass of writhing, glistening bodies like short, stubby tentacles. Tiger leeches. God, how he hated them. Black body, slashed with stripes of violent yellow, each by now engorged to five times its normal size.
When the first leech had slithered up Jaeger’s trouser leg, searching for somewhere warm and moist to attach itself, it had been the size of a small pen lid, no bigger. Now, after a few hours’ feeding, each was the size of a thick marker pen and swollen fat with Jaeger’s blood.
‘Lighter?’ Alonzo offered.
The most satisfying way to get rid of them was to burn the bastards off. The second most satisfying method was to dose them in insect repellent and watch them twist and worm.
Jaeger held out his hand for the lighter. ‘Thanks.’
He knew he really shouldn’t. Leeches secreted an anaesthetic in their saliva, so the victim didn’t feel their bite. Once attached, they pumped hirudin, a powerful enzyme, into the victim’s veins, to stop the blood from clotting – enabling them to feed and feed and feed.
If you put a naked flame to one, it immediately contracted, withdrew its teeth and dropped off – but in the process it voided much of its stomach contents back into your bloodstream. In other words, it vomited all the blood back into your veins, including any diseases it might be carrying.
But Jaeger hated tiger leeches with a vengeance, and he couldn’t resist the urge to get even. He flicked the lighter, lowered the flame and watched the first of the swollen black tentacles hiss, writhe and burn.
‘We’ve got Hellfire missiles trying to blow us to shit . . . I’ll happily risk burning a few of these bastards off.’
Alonzo laughed. ‘Yeah – that’s one battle we can win.’
After a few seconds, the leech dropped, leaving a stream of blood pouring down Jaeger’s leg. The wound would bleed for some time, but he figured it was worth it.
He had tortured the leech in two ways: one, it had lost its precious meal of blood; and two, it would never recover from the burns.
64
By the time they’d finished burning off the leeches, it was last light. Jaeger figured they’d set camp where they were. He sent word round his team. But as hammocks and ponchos were slung between dark trees slick with rain, he noticed that one amongst their number was in trouble.
He moved across to Dale, who’d yet to change out of his wet gear. The cameraman had swung his legs into his hammock, and was lying back seemingly ready for sleep. He had his film kit clutched to his chest, and was using a can of compressed air to blow-brush the worst of the gunk and the moisture out of his camera.
It had to be tough keeping such equipment functioning in these kind of conditions. Dale was religious about his evening kit-cleaning ritual, and many were the nights when he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep holding his camera like a kid would a teddy bear.
‘Dale, you don’t look too good,’ Jaeger prompted.
A head appeared over the side of the hammock. The cameraman’s face looked horribly pale and drawn. Jaeger didn’t doubt that Dale had yet to discover his load of leeches, for only by changing out of his wet gear would he do so.
‘Just so totally knackered,’ Dale muttered. ‘Gotta clean my gear and sleep.’
Nine days in the jungle had taken a heavy toll. Doubly so on Dale, who was tasked to film the entire expedition in addition to being a part of it. Whereas the others found a little time for basic body hygiene, Dale seemed to spend every spare moment cleaning his gear, changing batteries and backing up whatever he’d filmed on to a spare drive.
Plus he had all the extra weight of the film equipment to carry. On several occasions Jaeger had offered to share the burden, but Dale had demurred. His excuse had been that he needed his kit close at hand, but in truth Jaeger figured that he was just a proud and determined operator – and he respected that.
‘You’ve got to change into dry gear,’ Jaeger told him. ‘If you don’t, you’re finished.’
Dale stared, a crushing fatigue etched in his eyes. ‘I’ve hit the wall. Truly hit the wall.’
Jaeger delved into one of his pouches, pulling out a high-energy bar – part of his emergency rations. ‘Here – get that down you. Plus there’s one other thing you’ve got to deal with right now. No way to break this to you gently: l
eeches.’
It was Dale’s first close encounter with the revolting parasites, and it would prove a particularly traumatic one. Due to his habit of stopping regularly to film, and often crouching on the wet forest floor to get a low-angle shot, he’d presented the easiest of targets. As a result, he had a bumper harvest.
Jaeger offered him the lighter. As a horrified Dale went about burning off the leeches, Jaeger struck up a conversation to help get his mind off the task at hand.
‘So, how’s it been without Kral?’
Dale glanced at him. ‘Truthfully?’
‘Truthfully.’
‘The downside – I’ve got more weight to carry, ’cause Kral and me spread it across the two of us. The upside – I don’t have that ugly leech carping on the whole time, bitter, angry and self-centred. So on balance, I’m better off.’ He smiled, exhausted. ‘But I could do without these leeches.’
‘One thing’s for sure – the two of you were on shaky ground from the very start. What was it with you guys?’
‘Tell you a story,’ Dale muttered, as he put the flame to another fat leech. ‘I’m an Aussie by birth, but my dad sent me to a fine English boarding school – a place where they beat any residual Aussieness out of me along with my accent.
‘The school was renowned for its sport. Trouble was, I hated the staples – rugby, hockey and cricket. Was crap at them too. In short, I was a resounding disappointment to my father. There were only two things that I excelled at. One was rock-climbing; the other was using a camera.’
‘A fellow rock jock; that was my thing at school too. It’s a good skill to have in this kind of game.’
‘My dad’s a high-flying Sydney lawyer,’ Dale continued. ‘When I refused to follow him into the law and opted for a media career, he reacted like I’d been caught dealing drugs or something. Cut me off. So I threw myself into the shark pool of the London media, to doubly mess him up.